


history has its eyes on you

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: The Other 51 [37]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: As I have been reliably informed, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, My Valentine's Day gift for all your aching post-Trump hearts, Nosy Journalists, Panic Attacks, President Lin-Manuel Miranda, Queerplatonic Relationships, Side effects include: an unwillingness to return to reality, vague politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 19:06:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9780929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: This couldn't be true. Lin was torn between laughing at the absurdity, and despairing about the same. He chose to laugh, because if he stopped, he would cry.Alternatively, The Idea You Know You've Considered At Some Point.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I tweaked the law a bit, since technically, a POTUS can only be elected together with a corresponding VPOTUS, so an unorganized ticket wouldn't work, and in case the president-elect for some reason rejected the presidency, it would automatically go to the vice president-elect.
> 
> Honestly, most of what I know about the American government, I have found out through Trump's antics—or, more accurately, people correcting Trump's increasingly insane antics.

This couldn't be true. It was too surreal. Lin was torn between laughing at the absurdity, and despairing about the same. In the end, he settled for laughter, because if he stopped, he would cry.

Somehow, Lin was still trying to figure it out, one of his fans had jokingly proposed an idea to vote for Lin for the presidency. They got a lot of shit for it for proposing to throw away votes, but then the idea caught on until there were enough supporters to start a hidden campaign of converting voters. All Bernie supporters plus independents plus those who only supported for Trump or Hillary because they didn't want the other to win, voted for Miranda. It also went a long way to explain why Bernie supporters, upon his concession and the subsequent endorsement of Hillary, didn't exactly flock to Clinton.

Lin hadn't known this, of course — mostly because his fans did this deliberately in secret from Lin. The official Ham Fam Twitter account literally informed him a minute ago; otherwise, he wouldn't have had a clue as to how this came to be.

Lin just might throttle his fans, because _this_? This was the single most stupid thing they could have orchestrated—and that said a lot, coming from him, the master of Let's Do Crazy Stuff For Shits And Giggles.

He continued to stare at the coloured map on the screen, watching in absentminded fascination as more and more states switched to white—the colour of an independent candidate. Of _Lin_. His stomach churned unpleasantly.

His vision became clouded, the screen distancing itself from Lin almost like it was, like him, trying to escape from the reality it was presenting. He excused himself, feeling all eyes focused on him. He all but sprinted to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before heaving out the evening's snacks. He leaned back against a wall, closing his eyes as though it would shut out the outside world.

He felt, rather than saw, Vanessa come up behind him, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. There, Lin, she murmured, as if this situation was normal, _which it wasn't, goddammit_.

The phone suddenly rang. Lin habitually picked it up, glancing at the display. 202—area code of D.C.. He pressed the answer button. “Hello?” he said.

“Hello,” said a female voice. “Am I speaking with Lin-Manuel Miranda?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Lin said, his voice trembling a little.

“Mr Miranda, I presume you have been following the vote count.”

“I have,” Lin confirmed, dread creeping in

“Then you already know that you have been elected as our next president.”

“ _But I didn't run,_ ” Lin replied helplessly.

He could practically see her shrug. “Be that as it may, Mr Miranda, the people have spoken,” she said it in such a deadpan voice, as if this wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Then again, seeing as she was probably one of Obama's, an election, no matter its outcome, was nothing spectacular to her.

“And if I reject this offer?” Lin asked, grasping at straws.

“Then, seeing as your ticket does not specify a vice president, the office automatically goes to the second elected— in this case, Mr Trump,” she paused. “Off the record, I speak for the entire Obama administration when I implore you to accept. You aren't qualified, sir, not by any measure, but _anyone_ would be a better president than Donald Trump," she concluded. "Off the record, of course," she added, tone once again professional.

Lin hesitated. “May I get back to you?” he requested.

The lady sighed audibly. “I would have liked to be able to give you more time to consider, sir,” she said politely, “but, as you imagine, the entire nation is awaiting your answer. I'm afraid that I cannot give you any longer than five minutes.”

“Yes,” Lin breathed a sigh of relief. “Even that would be much appreciated. Thank you, ma'am.”

She sounded amused as she said, “I'll be on hold, whenever you're ready, sir.”

Lin put down his phone, then turned to his wife. “Ness, this is _insane_ ,” he hissed.

She met his eyes, a grave look in her eyes. “Sweetie,” she began, “I can't even begin to imagine what you must be going through, but you need to seriously consider this. Bear in mind, however, that, should you choose to relinquish this position, you will singlehandedly be electing a racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, xenophobic asshole, and going against everything you stand for.”

Lin grimaced. “That's not _fair_ ,” he says quietly.

Ness shook her head. “No, it's not," she agreed. "It's not fair to put so much on your shoulders, but it will not change reality,” she pointed out.

“How would we explain this to our son?” Lin retorted, mind already analyzing a thousand disastrous scenarios, each one worse than the previous one.

“Together,” she wove together their fingers. “Besides, he's two,” she pointed out. “That's not a conversation we need to have today.”

“His birthday is tomorrow,” Lin remembered. He had forgotten amid that mess.

“He'll be two tomorrow,” she agreed. “And we're still celebrating with a party, regardless of what you choose. Yes, we'd have to adjust a few last-minute details, but it'll be _fine_.”

He took a deep breath. “Ness, you are brilliant, and I don't deserve you, but I can't do this without you,” he admitted. “I need you there, and I don't care if that sounds selfish,” he shook his head.

She chuckled. “Lin, dear, you're about to do the single most selfless act in your life.” She squeezed his hand. “I'll be there with you the whole way, as will the cast.”

“You don't know that.”

Ness rolled her eyes. “If you think that they will simply abandon you just because you won't be able to be there on a daily basis, you know them far worse than you think.”

“I don't have any policies,” Lin said desperately. “I don't have any staffers. I don't have _anything_.”

“You have _me_ ,” Vanessa insisted. “And staffers are an easy fix — most people will want to work for the leader of the free world, and there is no law prohibiting you from choosing some of Obama's staffers, right? Some presidents in the past have used the same cabinet members, and they're already confirmed by the Senate. As for your policies... go with what feels right. You are the most amazing person I have ever met, and I am continually swept away by your humbleness." Here, she paused. “Just go with your morals. Do what feels right, and show those desperate enough to have voted for Trump that fear and hate and aggression isn't the answer. That's the most you can hope for.”

“That doesn't sound very professional,” Lin grimaced.

Ness smiled. “No, but that's what over half of America voted for. They want _you_ , Lin.”

Lin averted his eyes. He couldn't bear to look into his wife's eyes, so full of hope and trust. “Okay,” he said simply.

She pecked his cheek. “You'll do wonderfully,” she assured him, at the same time not assuring him at all.

Lin went to retrieve the phone from where he had left it on top of the washing machine. He pressed the on-hold button, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “Okay,” he said simply—the only simple part of this entire mess, like he wasn't dooming himself into four years of ruthless bureaucracy, the kind he used to make fun of at all turns. “I'll do it.”

He could practically hear her smile. “Very well, Mr President-elect,” she said. “We have your current address. Kindly stay put until three Secret Service agents can get to you." She ended the call after another courtesy, leaving Lin reeling, more thankful than ever for his wife.

_Best of wives and best of women, indeed._

Vanessa squeezed his hand again. “Come on,” she urged him. “We need to get back to the others. They will be worried. Jon will be worried,” she prodded him. “You don't want him to find out from the Secret Service,” she said, although he was certain that she hadn't heard his last exchange with the Obama staffer. She was too clever for her own good—

“Oh God,” Lin said, feeling like he might throw up all over again. _The Secret Service. Protecting_ him _. The loss of privacy._ “I can't do this.”

“You can,” Vanessa refuted. “Think of all the good you can do," she coaxed.

Lin shook his head, sitting down on the floor and curling in on himself. He drew in several ragged breaths, trying to calm himself even as he felt his body tense up, shutting out the outside world. He closed his eyes tightly.

He wasn't prone to anxiety attacks, but these were extenuating circumstances. The situation certainly warranted this reaction.

Ness crouched beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder for quiet support. Lin subconsciously leaned into the touch. “Take deep breaths for me,” she ordered. “Breathe in. _Uno, dos, tres_. Breathe out. _Uno, dos, tres_ ,” she repeated the process.

Lin gradually felt his body relax as his grip on reality returned. He didn't open his eyes quite yet. “ _Gracias_ ,” he murmured.

“ _Como estas?_ ” his wife asked, concern in her eyes.

He attempted a smile, and thought he almost succeeded. “Fine,” at Vanessa's admonishing glower, he amended, “Well, I'm not fine yet, but I _will_ be fine. Or as fine as I can get, considering…” he trailed off, gesturing around them, trying to indicate the situation.

She understood, and pecked him on the lips. “Let's go talk to the others, tell them what happened. Unless whoever you talked to has already managed to convey the joyful news,” she said in a neutral voice, and Lin, despite knowing her since high school, honestly couldn't tell whether she was serious.

♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥

His friends, as well as Jon, took it far calmer than he had. Jon, Chris, and Veronica—Chris' wife, whom Chris had all but blackmailed into coming in the form of That One Sane Adult because God knew nobody else was going to be it—nodded, grinning, like this was normal _God what was it about people and not freaking out_.

“I welcome the sweet release of death,” Lin grunted when he finished, collapsing gracelessly on the couch.

Jon sat down next to him, and, just like Ness, put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Don't worry,” he said, affection evident in his voice.

Lin resisted the urge to scream into his pillow, then realized that he could damn well scream into his pillow if he wanted to because, in his own words—“I'm the president,” he mumbled.

Jon frowned. “What did you say? I can't quite make out your words,” he said in that adorably British accent of his.

Lin lifted his head. “Never mind,” he flopped around onto his back, and, incidentally, onto Jon's lap. John looked surprised but not dismayed, if the quick grin he shot at Lin was anything to go by. “This sucks,” he whined.

Instead of pointing out that Lin had just been elected for the highest office in the country—possibly in the world— _not helping brain—_ and shouldn't get to complain, Jon made a noise of agreement. “I know,” he comforted. “But we're here for you whenever you need us. _All_ of us,” he emphasized, looking pointedly at Chris.

Chris raised up his palms in defense. “Hey, Lin's best friend here. I'm not disagreeing with you. I just didn't want to interrupt your lovebird moment,” he smirked.

Lin snickered, then sobered up as he realized that these kinds of light moments, with just him and his friends, would become progressively more rare, which just got him thinking about the situation again and _nope not happening_. He shook his head. “I love you, you know that, right?” he asked Jon quietly.

Jon smiled. His hand caressed Lin's cheek tenderly, finally resting on his forehead. “I know. And I fully expect a tour of the White House once you've settled in.”

“Anything for dear Groffsauce,” Lin said, and he meant every word.

Jon glanced up at Vanessa, who was watching the two of them with unconditional fondness in her eyes. They exchanged a meaningful glance, silently pledging to support Lin in whatever way they could _._

♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥

 _Donald Trump_ @realDonaldTrump  
Millions of illegal immigrants voted for illegitimate president. Rigged election! #MakeAmericaGreatAgain

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“Don't speak to the press,” the woman from earlier advised him in another phone call, “not quite yet. Let us do the talking for now.”

Lin was all to happy to acquiesce.

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 _Donald Trump_ @realDonaldTrump  
Fake Lin. Demand recount! #MakeAmericaGreatAgain

♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥

On November 11th, Lin met the Obamas. It was a flashy meeting, mostly for the press—something for posterity to remember. It wasn't at all like their first meeting, which was back when Lin performed _Hamilton_ at the White House. He had been curious about it, wanting to go visit but never quite getting around to it. If he had known that he'd be _living_ there—

 _Anyway_. The last time he had met Barack Obama, it was under quite different circumstances. This time, it was tenser, and not the tense Lin was used to. This wasn't nerves before a show, not knowing whether it would work out or not. This was meeting with the freaking President of the United States in the roll of his successor—a role which he had been thrust into with zero warning. It didn't get much tenser than that.

Obama invited him and Vanessa into the meeting room—was it called a meeting room? Did it have a pretentious name, like the Madison room, or the Hamilton room? Lin made a mental note to rename a nameless room after Hamilton, and maybe name the adjoining room after Burr—because what was the fun of being president if one didn't get to name rooms?—then scolded his brain for going off-track again. Life-changing meeting with president. Check.

“Trump has been throwing a temper tantrum on Twitter,” Obama murmured quietly to Lin, smiling as they sat still, the handshake awkwardly devolving into something Lin would usually only do with Jon in order for the press to get a good shot of the two of them: the first black president, and the man who broke all other precedents—including, but not limited to, winning despite not actually running, and spending the least amount of money on his campaign.

Lin stifled a wide grin at that. “Doesn't he always?” he shot back, and had the pleasure of seeing Obama begin to snicker, only controlling himself when the press began to give them odd looks.

“That's the attitude, Lin,” Obama said, reverting to the first-name basis Lin had established the last time he had talked to the man. “You may be inexperienced but—“

Lin barely managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes. “I am all too aware of all the reasons that make me unsuitable for this job,” he muttered a little grouchily. “You don't have to list them all over again. _Sir_.”

Obama tilted his head, shooting him a reprimanding look that reminded Lin of just why he had been elected president. “If you'd let me finish?” he asked pointedly. “I think that the very reasons why you think you're unqualified for this job make you the perfect candidate. You'll be bringing in a new viewpoint of politics, but at the same time, you will have one thing Donald Trump doesn't: morals. You're a decent human being, and will make a far better president than he'd ever be.”

Lin and Obama both shuddered imperceptibly at the thought of a Trump presidency. Just that was too frightening to consider, and Lin winced every time he remembered the fact that Trump came so very close to winning—and would have, had Lin's devious and definitely crazy but scarily efficient fans not gotten in the way.

Obama glanced at the press, then back at Lin. “I think that's long enough,” he said at length. “The handshake was getting too awkward.”

“Dude,” Lin muttered, “it got too awkward when you brought up Trump.”

This time, Obama _did_ laugh.

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After the levels of awkwardness had decreased back to an acceptable level, Obama offered him a private tour of the White House. Lin nodded at all the right moments, privately bemoaning the fact that he'd probably never remember what was where, let alone what the rooms were actually called. There _was_ a Jefferson room, as it turned out, and a Madison room. They were in two different parts of the White House though, which Lin thought unrealistic because _really_ , one does not simply split up Jefferson and Madison.

He finally summoned up the courage to ask the question that had been plaguing his mind for the past two days. “Whom should I pick for my vice president?” he winced as his voice came out more uncertain than he'd like for it to.

Obama contemplated this. “Well, if you want to run for reelection—“

“Which I don't,” Lin interrupted. “Four years will be quite enough for me to go crazy in here. I don't intend to stay for the full eight years experience, no matter how _tempting_ ,” he drawled, “it may sound.”

“You need to find someone who complements you,” Obama continued, ignoring Lin. “Fills in your weaknesses with their strengths. Someone...” he hesitated, “politically experienced.”

 _Of fucking course_. Then again, he really shouldn't have expected any other advise from a politician.

♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥

Lin picked Michelle Obama. He reckoned that, if he was going to be politically inexperienced, he and his vice president might as well be politically inexperienced together, in a way—he would have all the other staffers to tell him what was the polite thing to do.

Besides, Michelle wasn't all that inexperienced, either. Her political experience included being a long-time advocate of equality for all as well as women's rights, and she had eight years of living in the White House and seeing the inner workings of intricate politics first-hand. Very few people had that kind of invaluable information. This way, Lin would benefit from her knowledge of the workings of a functioning White House, while also learning from Obama's failings.

He briefly considered Joe Biden for his vice president, or at least for one of his cabinet picks—maybe State, possibly Comic Relief—but ultimately decided against it. Biden had made it quite clear that he wanted to stay out of politics at least until the next election—a reprieve, so to speak.

Michelle Obama was by no means a second choice. She was, in the end, the one Lin felt that he could work best with.

She sounded ecstatic at the job offer when he talked to her in private, admitting that she and her family had planned on going on a prolonged vacation after relinquishing office, but that she would be delighted to help him run a country, this time as her own person instead of using the connection to her husband, and to continue her fight for women's rights.

Lin admitted that he had no idea what the hell he was doing. Michelle laughed and proposed that as their slogan. “'We Have No Idea What We're Doing But It Always Seems To Piss Someone Off',” she snickered.

Lin snickered. “Neat, but in all fairness, a bit too long,” he paused, then sobered up as the perfect idea came to mind. “I know. 'Equality For All'.”

She smiled wistfully. In that one look, Lin knew she was on-board. “Equality for all it is,” she agreed. “Let's live up to the American ideal.”

Lin couldn't help but wince. “Maybe disregard Thomas Jefferson's ideal. And Madison's. And Monroe's.”

Michelle rolled her eyes. “I'm stuck with you making obscure history jokes, aren't I?” she said fondly.

“They're not _obscure_ ,” Lin objected defiantly.

Michelle snorted. "Keep telling yourself that, Mr President." _  
_

♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥

 _New York Post_ @nypost  
Lin-Manuel Miranda to be first independent POTUS in 175 years!

 _Daveed Diggs_ @DaveedDiggs  
@Lin_Manuel History has its eyes on you.

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“You know,” Vanessa said the same evening, “you're going to have to talk to the press _eventually_. Or even just make a statement. You haven't tweeted since before the election,” she pointed out. “People begin to worry, and not in the 'you've been writing non-stop for the past twelve hours, we should probably do something before he collapses' sort of way.”

Lin sighed. “I know,” he looked up at his wife, then glanced away to where his notebook and his fountain pen—the only pen that didn't cause his hand to cramp after two hours of writing—laid. “I will ask the Obama staffer to schedule something.”

“I'll be there,” Vanessa promised. “And you should consider getting your own PR staff. Obama will eventually notice that you keep using his.”

Lin shrugged. “He has just over two months left in office. He'll be fine without one measly PR staffer.”

His wife rolled her eyes. “Not if the staffer in question is his Press Secretary.”

Lin bit his lip. “Are you telling me I've been borrowing Obama's Press Secretary?” Ness nodded. “How am I even still _alive_?” He couldn't imagine how Obama must have felt, for Lin to just steal  his Press Secretary like that without even asking either of them first.

“Obama likes you,” Ness said, as if it explained everything.

Maybe it did _._

♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥

 _Lin-Manuel Miranda_ @Lin_Manuel  
Ham fam: When I said I was a fan of The West Wing, I didn't mean it quite this literally. #POTUS

♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥

His wife's presence was probably the only reason Lin got through the press conference without having a major panic attack. She was always there, always reassuring him, grounding him. She was a true blessing.

He had planned out a speech. Some of it didn't work out quite as well as he had hoped. Still other parts of it went even better than he could have ever dreamed.

“I intend to challenge Obama as the chillest president ever,” he grinned, aiming for a light tone. Judging by the chuckles coming from the journalists, he had succeeded. He waited for a few moments before continuing. “In all seriousness though,” his face grew serious once again, “I've been elected even though I did not run, and when I got the news, I was seriously considering rejecting this— _not cool_ , by the way, Ham fam. Not cool,” he reiterated, glaring at the cameras. “In the end, I decided that I could do some good as president, and I vow before this nation that I intend to uphold this. I intend to make America a better place—for _all_ of us,” he emphasized, and could almost feel Leslie give him thumbs up. Michelle beamed from beside him.

“Questions?” he finally said, dreading the resulting explosion he just _knew_ would ensure.

And sure enough, at least a dozen hands shot up into the air. Lin sighed, picking one at random, then another, then another, answering all of their questions as patiently as he could while still not giving away much because honestly, there wasn't much of a plan to give away. His general plan was simply to survive the coming four years, and maybe make America a better place while he was at it.

Later, just as he was leaving, one of the reporters seemed to barrage him with another series of questions.

“Mr President, will you confirm the rumours regarding you and Mr Groff?” the reporter asked. Lin's shoulders tensed up but, other than that, he didn't react. The reporter blithely went on. “Mr President, are you secretly gay? Is your relationship with Mrs Nadal fake?”

Lin stopped short, incredulous at the sheer stupidity of that reporter. Ignoring Obama's Press Secretary's—really, she was more of Lin's Press Secretary now, seeing as she was already doing a full time job fielding his transition and the media's reaction to it, and he was fully prepared to officially offer her the position as soon as he got a moment alone with her—indications that they should keep moving, he turned around to face the reporter who asked that last question. “Okay,” he rolled his eyes, “first off, don't insult my wife by implying that I would merely use her as a beard. Second, being attracted to Jon wouldn't make me _gay_ , it would make me _bisexual—_ which I am, for the record. Do what you want with that information. As for my relationship with Jon—” he gave the journalist a sharp look. "That's _none of your business_. It's my personal life, and I'd like to keep some semblance of privacy, or at least the illusion of it—or, barring that, that you leave Jon out of it. He has his own life too, you know."

With that, he turned on the spot, ignoring the roomful of journalists who had been not-so-subtly eavesdropping on his conversation, and left the room, his inappropriately amused wife and slightly horrified staff following in his wake _._

♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥

 _Lin-Manuel Miranda_ @Lin_Manuel  
Equality For All #EFA with @MichelleObama

♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥¸¸.•*¨*•♥♥

Lin took a deep breath as he dialed the number he had received from Obama. He had been making rounds, trying to fill his cabinet with people who, unlike him, knew precisely what they were doing, and preferably weren't too corrupted by the unrelenting grind that was D.C. politics.

He sighed as his phone finally connected. He heard a “Hello, this is Dr Moniz speaking,” from the other end of the telephone.

“Hello, is this Ernest Moniz?” Lin asked to confirm. “This is Lin-Manuel Miranda.”

A pause. “Yes, this is Ernest Moniz,” the deep voice finally confirmed. “What can I do for you today, Mr President-elect?”

Lin rolled his eyes, thankful that Moniz wasn't able to see it. “Please, Dr Moniz, it's either Lin, or, if you insist on formalities, Mr Miranda. Don't title me. I'm trying to avoid the title for as long as I can manage.”

“Good luck with that,” Moniz chuckled. “Now, what can I do for you, Mr Miranda?” he repeated.

Lin bit his lip nervously. “Forgive me for being blunt,” he began, “but there really is no subtle way of saying this. Mr Moniz, would you mind staying another four years as Secretary of Energy?” he blurted out.

Snort. “This is undoubtedly the most concise job offer I have ever received, without even applying for it,” the voice said confidently.

Lin winced. “Would you like me to write you a ten page essay on why you should accept?” he asked, a desperate tone to his voice. “Because I can do that,” He could — and would — do much more than that if it guaranteed him Moniz staying on as Secretary of Energy. This would be someone who would handle nuclear launch codes; Lin couldn't choose simply anyone, but Moniz came highly recommended, both from the Obama couple and from one of Chris' contacts from the World of Vaguely Obscure Science.

Another amused chuckle. “No, sir, there's no need for that. I accept,” the man assured him.

Lin let out a breath he hadn't realized that he was holding. “Thank you, sir. I really have no way of thanking you enough.”

“Be a good leader,” Moniz advised him. “That will be thanks enough. Well,” he amended, “that and the ludicrous salary, of course.”

Yeah, Lin would get along _just fine_ with Ernest Moniz. If only the rest of the job was that easy.

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“Where's Vanessa?” Lin asked. “And don't tell me Grand Theft Auto.”

His Chief of Staff remained suspiciously silent.

Lin groaned. “ _I swear to God, Ness._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> To those who might argue that this would be a woefully inept White House, I only have three words: the Trump administration.
> 
> Thoughts? Feelings?
> 
> Also, imagine the inauguration:  
> Obama: Sorry the First Lady is unable to greet Mrs Nadal, but you kind of stole her from me so it's kind very much your fault.  
> Lin: *unabashed joy*  
> Obama: Well, see you for dinner tomorrow, Mr President.  
> Lin: Likewise, Mr President, Mrs Vice President.  
> Michelle: Lin, I literally cannot move from here right now, I'm being sworn in, my attendance is mandatory.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [an itemized list of thirty years of disagreements](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10572753) by [Sanna_Black_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin)




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